Monty Python's philosopher's drinking song

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.

Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.

David Hume could out-consume
Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, [some versions have 'Schopenhauer and Hegel']

And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.

There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.

John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.

Plato, they say, could stick it away--
Half a crate of whisky every day.

Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle.
Hobbes was fond of his dram,

And René Descartes was a drunken fart.
'I drink, therefore I am.'

Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed,
A lovely little thinker,
But a bugger when he's pissed.

Epitaph

I think I'd like the following to be read at my funeral (not that I'm expecting it anytime soon):

What delightful hosts they are--Love and Laughter!
Lingeringly I turn away at this late hour, yet glad
They have not withheld from me their high hospitality.
So at the door I pause to press their hands just once more
And say, "So fine a time! Thank you both . . . and goodbye."
- Anonymous

Get him a body bag, Johnny! Yeah!

Sweep the leg, Johnny.

Relive a bit of 1985, with a twist, brought to you by No More Kings. Coments welcome.

"Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that phase.
Even your emotions had an echo
In so much space

And when you're out there
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Probably

And I hope that you are having the time of your life
But think twice, that's my only advice
Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are,
Ha ha ha bless your soul
You really think you're in control

Well, I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
Just like me

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them
Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done

Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe you're crazy
Maybe we're crazy
Probably

Working Class Hero

Working Class Hero
by John Lennon, 1970

As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be

There's room at the top they're telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me

Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)

Don McLean wrote Vincent in 1971 after reading a book about the life of artist Vincent Van Gogh. In the 1970s, the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam played the song daily and a copy of the sheet music, together with a set of Van Gogh's paint brushes, is buried in a time capsule beneath the museum.

Lyrics

---

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colours on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds and violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue
Colours changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artists' loving hand

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They're not listening still
Perhaps they never will...

---

I highly recommend Josh Groban's version of the song.

---

What do Star Wars and Mose Allison have in common?

I regisered with e-snips a few moments ago, and uploaded a couple of mp3's created by Star Wars fans. If you care to give an opinion, please let me know if you enjoyed "Star Wars in 30 Seconds" and "My Name Is Darth Vader." I assure you that they were downloaded for free. I don't recall exactly where I got them from, but I am sure they are not copyrighted.

I learned about e-snips from Stephen, who used it to introduce to me the music of Mose Allison. Mose's voice is like silk, he graduated from LSU in 1952 with a double-major in English and Philosophy, and he is a jazz legend! Stephen, I have to tell you that I have become an instant fan! Thank you so much for thinking of me.

His name is even Jewish - he feels like a soul-mate.

I don't know if any of the readers are Star Wars geeks like me, but if you are let me know what you think of the tracks. Also let me know if you didn't get the invitation, so I can send you one.

In a Big Country

Great song. Never quite knew the words until I looked them up today.

In a Big Country
by Big Country

I never saw you look like this without a reason
Another promise fallen through, another season passes by you
I never took the smile away from anybody's face
And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is still a child

CHORUS:
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive

I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime

CHORUS

So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you
Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded
Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered

Kids of the Week

I noted that all my three girls were born on Tuesday mornings, and Juggling Mother said, "All mine were born on a Sunday ...." It put me in mind of an old nursery rhyme:

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for its living;
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

There you go, Juggling Mother! Your kids are the best of the lot!

I must have been born on a Saturday.

I dont want to be

I don't want to be (song title)
Artist(Band):Gavin DeGraw

I don't need to be anything other than a prison guard's son
I don't need to be anything other than a specialist's son
I don't have to be anyone other than a birth of two souls in one
Part of where I'm going is knowing where I'm coming from
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been tryin to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
I'm surrounded by liars everywhere I turn
I'm surrounded by imposters everywhere I turn
I'm surrounded by identity crisis everywhere I turn
Am I the only one to notice
I can't be the only one who's learned
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
Can I have everyone's attention please
If you're not like this and that
You're gonna have to leave
I came from the mountains
The crust of creation
My whole situation made from clay dust stone
And now I'm telling everybody
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
I DONT WANNA BE...
I DONT WANNA BE...
I DONT WANNA BE....
I DONT WANNA BE....

100 years to live as a car salesman

I heard this song on the radio and quite liked it, so much so that I looked up the lyrics, provided below. It's by a group called Five for Fighting.

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star

15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

Half time goes by
Suddenly you're wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

15 there's still time for you
22 I feel her too
33 you're on your way
Every day's a new day...

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

My apologies for not responding to some of the comments to the previous post. I've been working 50 to 60 hours per week and every time I started to type, something drew my attention away before I could finish and finally I said to heck with it. I have been working at the University on my days off, for two reasons. First, we could use the money because I haven't sold any cars yet. Secondly, I felt awful for not giving them advance notice when I quit. I've never done that before. Everyone in the office understands, though, and a few of them said they will be shopping for cars soon and they're going to come see me.

This weekend is a big tent sale at the dealership, so I will be working extra hours on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Part of the reason I haven't sold any cars is because there's been very little traffic coming in to the dealership. With any luck, there will be plenty of "victims" coming in for the "sale". (BTW, don't ever buy a pre-owned vehicle at a tent sale unless you know what the price was before the sale. My manager marks all the vehicles up about a hundred bucks. In fact, anyone thinking of buying a car should e-mail me. I've already learned a few things about markups and negotiation.)

I'm feeling good about myself and I believe I'm capable of being a good salesman, however - I'm really not sure I want to be in the car business anymore. I'm already learning things I never wanted to know.

I will remember you

After Michelle and I broke up - and before we got back together - this song reminded me of her. After we were married, I told her about it. She said that it had always reminded her of me. So, it is one of 'our' songs.

I Will Remember You*

I will be walking one day
Down a street far away
And see a face in the crowd and smile
Knowing how you made me laugh
Hearing sweet echoes of you from the past
I will remember you.

Look in my eyes while you’re near
Tell me what’s happening here
See that I don’t want to say good-bye
Our love is frozen in time
I’ll be your champion and you’ll be mine
I will remember
I will remember you.

Later on
When this fire is an ember
Later on
When the night’s not so tender
Given time
Though it’s hard to remember darlin’
I will be holding
I’ll still be holding to you
I will remember you.

So many years come and gone
And yet the memory is strong
One word we never could learn
Good-bye
True love is frozen in time
I’ll be your champion and you’ll be mine
I will remember you
So please remember
I will remember you
I will remember you
I will remember you
I will remember you.

---

*Amy Grant/Gary Chapman/Keith Thomas
Copyright © 1991 age to age music, inc./riverstone music, inc./edward grant, inc./yellow elephant music, inc. (ascap), adm. by reunion music group, inc.

Poetry Circle

I've always been fond of poetry. I don't often seek it out, but I do enjoy it when I chance upon it. I've even been known to write a few lines now and then. (Anyone remember "On My Island: A Poem of Philosophy Written Before the Exam"?)

Nature Poetry has caught my interest of late. Nature poetry is simply - poems about nature! - as the name implies. The poems don't have to be "about" nature, exactly. They must have thematic elements or imagery related to nature though, in order to be considered part of the genre.

Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth, and S. T. Coleridge are some great names in poetry that have added significantly to the body of nature poetry. I'm not aware of any poets that write nature poetry exclusively, but I'm sure there are some.

The following poem charmed me with its humorous sentiments and wisdom, and its references to mythology and ancient philosophy.

THE GRASSHOPPER
by: Anacreon (c.572-488 BC)
HAPPY insect! what can be
In happiness compar'd to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis filled wherever thou dost tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing;
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce;
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently joy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country-hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd year!
Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;
Phoebus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life's no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect, happy, thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal!)--
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.

TRANSLATED BY ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1667)

The next one is unpretentious, yet poignant and somewhat bitter. It is written by a Native American.

On earth as it is in heaven
by: Laura Martin-Bühler, (winter 1995)
Love is giving
Mother Earth gives all
Every sparrow’s song
Every waterfall.
No payment owing
On pink sunrise lights
No government loans
On desert moon nights.
Love is feeling –
Gratitude for all
Every mountain height
Every baying call.
No mortgages
On cedar trees and sand
Money is a game
Invented by a man.
Assets are acquired
Toys bought and sold
Useless possessions
Collateral cold.
Bondage of spirit
In gold we trust.
Cemented in servitude
Dreams turn to dust
God’s presence felt
In nature’s pure heart
Every creation
Unspeakable art.
Every white snowflake
Rainbow or rock
Emanates love and
A key to life’s lock.

This last one touches me on a deeper level even than the previous samples:

The Circus in the Trees
by: Andrew Hudgins
I love to watch the gray squirrels leap
from limb to leafy limb,
tumbling like furry acrobats –
and every tree their gym.

The oak limbs are their trampoline,
and their trapeze the pines.
They stroll like tightrope walkers, up
the looping power lines –

and sometimes they gnaw through a line,
exploding as it arcs,
and lighting up the evening sky,
cascading down as sparks.

Copyright © 2004 by Shenandoah:
The Washington and Lee University Review
Volume 54, Number 1 Spring/Summer 2004

Oh! That one gets me right. here. I have to stop writing now. I’m getting emotional.

minority me

Found some cartoons today:

(That's the problem, sir ...)

(I want to join this guy's church!)



This last cartoon offends me.

Most of my life I have not been an atheist.

Although I no longer hold any scripture divinely inspired, my love for many writings remains undiminished. I recognize that holy scriptures represent some of the best and noblest characteristics possessed by human beings. Here is an excerpt from Ecclesiastes, chapter nine, which I find to be particularly wise and poignant.

For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope,
for a living dog is better than a dead lion.

For the living know they shall die,
but the dead know not any thing,
neither have they any more a reward,
for the memory of them is forgotten.
Also their love,
and their hatred,
and their envy,
is now perished;
neither have they any more a portion for ever
in any thing that is done under the sun.

Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy,
and drink thy wine with a merry heart;
for God now accepteth thy works.
Let thy garments be always white,
and let thy head lack no ointment,
Live joyfully with the wife whom whou lovest
all the days of the life of thy vanity,
which he hath given thee under the sun,
all the days of thy vanity;
for that is thy portion of this life,
and in thy labour
which thou takest under the sun.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do,
do it with thy might;
for there is no work, nor device,
nor knowledge, nor wisdom,
in the grave, whither thou goest.

I returned, and saw under the sun
that the race is not to the swift,
nor the battle to the strong,
neither yet bread to the wise,
nor yet riches to men of understanding,
not yet favour to men of skill;
but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Not the best translation, I'm sure, but there's none so poetic as the King James.

This passage is one of many that are particularly prescious to me. Were I to live a million years, I would never want to destroy the Bible (or any other scripture).

The Man in the Glass

Michelle and I live in the house that my grandparents on my father's side lived in before they passed away. The six of us grandkids affectionately called my grandfather 'Grandpop'. The following poem was special to him. He had copies of it framed and hung about the house, and now several members of my family have adopted it as expressing words to live by. The language strikes me as being distinctly of the World War Two era. Grandpop was a veteran of that war and was a prisoner of the Germans in Stalag Luft 1 located in Barth, Germany. As was typical of the men who served at that time, he never spoke of his experiences. We didn't understand that phase of his life while he was with us. During these last few years, more and more has come to light. As that generation dwindles, I and others are becoming ever more appreciative of their contributions, and their sacrifices. This is for Grandpop:


The Man In The Glass.

When you get what you want in your struggles for self
And the world makes you king for a day,
Just go to a mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn't your father or mother or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass,
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

Some people might think you're a straight-shooting chum
And call you a wonderful guy.
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

He's the fellow to please, never mind all the rest
For he's with you clear to the end.
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you've cheated the man in the glass.

Popular Adaptation of "The Guy In The Mirror"
by Dale Wimbrow


P.S. I apologize for not keeping up with e-mails and blogging. I want all the snaars fans out there to know that if I am slow to respond, don't think I'm ignoring you. (It could be the case that I'm ignoring you, actually, but just don't think that I am, okay? I'll feel better about myself if you continue to have faith that I'm an all-around fantastic and together dude.)

And don't forget to click on some google ads every time you visit, you drooling consumerist automotae!

"The Panther" by Rainer Maria Rilke

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.

(trans. from German by Stephen Mitchell)

On My Island:

A Poem of Philosophy
Written Before the Exam

by Michael Schnaars

On my island
Metalinguistic assessments
Turn propositions into p’s;
I see native axioms earn possibilities;
Flowering quantifiers restrict
Over oceanic variables pelagic sets of T’s and F’s;
In fertile (quick)sand modalities
My church of trees, abstract ontologies;
Fruitful Gettier fern epi-stems rise
Potentialized, actualized,
Platonized, nominalized,
Structuralized, analyzed,
Syllogized and derived;
If _ then
Or
And Not.
Cautious white sun beams unblemished
At the stream of reason
On the altar of truth (and falsity)
By the Cave existentially challenged
I bask and slowly unwind.